Lies, lies, lies

Lies, lies, lies chapter 4: Plucked from the womb

“Loraine, what did you just say?” I said in a tortured, humble voice. “Why would you say something like that?” I had to to contain my frustration and sheer shock, I could feel such

Dreadful emotions made my voice tremble. I arose from my bed, I puffed my out chest and approached her. As my shadow consumed her, she continued to explain “She thought… she thought that the bady was better off with just her. So she took it to the other town.” I continued with my voice “SO… so you’ve been keeping this from me… All this time!?”. My voice boiled over into aggression, no more did I weak of desperation, I let Loraine know that there would be serious consequences if she didn’t answer without even opening my mouth. She concealed her child that was surrounded by her sweaty flesh and pushed back against the wall. I retrieved my anger as best as I could and said “Tell me, where is she?”. “Liverpool, she’s in Liverpool. That’s all I know”. I was about to exit the room, but I needed retribution. “Dear Loraine, try to understand. I want to imagine me plunging fist through your flesh and ripping out your child by the foot. By the time I’ve run off, You haven’t felt his sticky skin on your hands, nor seen it’s blue, peddle eyes. I want to remember that, have that image firmly burnt into your brain. Because if you do this or you’re lying to me, I’ll make sure that this bady will not see the light of day, nor will have another child replaced. Don’t try going to the police because I goddamn own them. You will not forget what you’ve done to me.” As I walked out into the corridor, I released my weary fury by howling the word “b***h?” followed by my fist smashing against the wall. The shock of my hand’s flesh becoming bruised and broken was overruled by the ache that was already tormenting my heart.

3 weeks later

It wasn’t hard to find her, I not only have the connections but the respect to weave out information from just about anyone. The key is to act like that you can get them fired if they don’t cooperate. And so I wait in her little apartment, resting next to the empty cradle and the alphabet blocks scattered across the carpet. The Kitchen carpet was infinitely worse, swarming with whatever stains of drool and I hope is just expired milk. I wait for the sound of her clammering footsteps to crawl up to the door, plastic shopping bags in hand. I can see it now, she drops all the shopping onto the floor at the mere shock of her door hanging wide open. She cautiously steps in, like a mole peeking into his den when a cat has entered his den. She stumbled in, to see my cold face. SHe’l crumbles at the mere sight of me, trying to explain and justify her inexcusable crime. Her fumbling whips will not stirr nor trigger me, for there’s nothing she may say that I haven’t already accounted for. She’ll beg for mercy and for forgiveness but she'll receive none. She’ll await the sharp slap of my belt but unbemost to her, I think of myself of a much more refined gentleman. And now and wait, anticipating her footsteps and wild cries. I look around and see the life she has stolen from me. I rock the crib and imagine my child resting in it. I see his playful little legs randomly sprouting outwards while he drifts between the comforts of his sheet. I can even see myself stomping on the sharp ends of those little blocks. I also see the fabric of the pillows disheartened by stains of food. I’m most thankful for this cushionless, leather chair. I wonder if I would ever be suited for such a… turbulent life. As you know, I’m a man of fine tastes. Of leather and food. Above all else, I’m an office man. I was practically bread for such a life, the quiet solitude of the office where one could quietly calculate his thoughts as well as his tasks. The closest thing the working man has to meditation. I mean offence, but you women have all the tools you need to raise such a messy child. You’re given doll houses so you know your way around the home, the aisle is filled with fake, plastic dolls, with instructions on how to change it, feed and mother it. A role in society has been commodfied to little play things for your children, it’s society means to ingrained in you. It’s something that isn’t ingrained in me, therefore I don’t I can handle such a role, nor even tolerate all the filth, grime and sludge that oozes for such a thing. I have as much enthusiasm for raising a child now as I did then, practically. So I questioned why I came here in the first place, the action itself just seemed to be the will of nature. Possibly out of sheer b****y of my hatred for my wife perhaps? Does my spit spread that much? Could a man do all this, to track down his wife and bolt in her door, just to shout out how she wronged him?

Here she’s come in. The footsteps halt, and I see her wearing her brown fabric and black buttoned coat walk in. She recognises me and drops the bags to the floor. Completely and utterly speechless she is. Truly the grim reaper has arrived to collect his debt and she will soon beg for my forgiveness. “Get… THE HELL OUT OF HERE. You can’t have him!!”. She was a little more feisty than I remember. This woman was far from the apathetic slob I had been married to for far too long. I continued with “Well, it’s good to see you too. Now, once you’ve calmed down, we’ll talk about this like adults.” She went ahead and closed the door and sat down while her firesome gaze was fixed upon me. I looked over at the empty crable, and an image flashed in front of my eyes. A tiny, hairless infant, snuggling in the comfort of my embrace I continued with. Suddenly the image of me being a father seemed a lot less foreign to me “So… what did you decide to call him” He continued, still remaining in her defensive stance “His name is George”. “I see, does he carry the name of his...” “Why are you here?” she interrupted quite profusely “Just say what you want from me and leave me here!” One must wonder why we never really worked together. “Okay… Why did you leave me? More importantly, what was going through your mind when you decided that the best thing for this child was to take it from me?”. She continued with “Tell me something, Do you actually believe that you’dlet me have this bady”. I tried to reply but she cut in with “On our first date, You made an abortion joke! Whether we had friends over, you’d tell it again and again! How do you think I felt? Did you ever ask me if I ever wanted kids? NO! Would you be the least bit excited about becoming a parent? NO! It was always “we're too young” or…”I need to get that promotion first”. You made me feel like… you weren't bothered about my decision. I replied in a more aggravated voice “If you felt so conflicted about having a baby what didn't you just tell me about?! You didn’t need to resent me the way you did”. She turned back at me and shove her pointy finger up into my face “Tell me John! Tell that the first thing that you wouldn't think of when I told you I was pregnant… was to flush it out!”. I remained silent “NO, no look at me, look into your wife’s eyes and tell that you try and drag me into that clinic to shove scalpels into me, because you know that you’re too much of a coward to be a father!” I hold back the urge to strike her, we were in no need of further discourse. “You came here thinking of me as some sort of witch. That I callously stole your child without a hint of hesitation. Yet, in reality, keeping George for myself was without a doubt the best decision for me, you and Georgie. And like back then you pull your sheep’s skin over your head and shield yourself from what is obviously the bitter truth. You are blind to reason, John and death to needs and the wants of your own wife. I knew there was no use talking it out with you. I needed to make sure little George was safe”. I paused silently. I told myself that the image of myself that Hilda described was nothing like my own. Though I did not say, I would force her to have the body aborted, I’m no such beast. Of course, I’d be devastated if my own wife truly believed that this child would be better off with me out of it’s life but… still, who was this heartless man she described? I was not a perfect husband by any means and yes I could have been distant and uncompromising at times but I was never an awful husband. She merely selected these mild traits and used them as building blocks to paint a picture of someone who vaguely resembles me. This picture, though sharing my outline and basic features was far from the man I am. This is how Hilda saw me, if only I had the chance to show her all the things I am and could be and not allow to imagine such a crude version of myself.

I slipped off my iron ring and placed it onto the leather chair and said “I’m sorry if, I ever made you feel like that, a good husband should never make his wife feel so alone. Perhaps we should, put the ‘who’s to blame’ argument on the bench… and, consider what’s best for Georgie for a moment”. Hilda’s voice jumped with “If you think you snatch away Georgie like that you’re wrong! I don’t care how big your house is or how much…” I halted her with “I think the best thing for this child is to stay with it’s mother. Introducing a father this late into his lifespan would only complicate things. Here…” I pulled out my heavy metal pen and chequebook and wrote down whatever number I was capable of disposing off the time. At first I thought I should hand it to her directly but, I then quickly realised it was probably best to just put it on the table for her. She looked perplexingly at it and I continued “new clothes, schooling gear, whatever you believe to be best for a child. I know I haven't a single role with the development of this child but… I need you to let me do this one thing. I confess, I was a little more than uncomfortable with becoming a father so early in my life, but give me the chance to at least rectify some part of that. I won’t pretend you don’t hate me, so you don’t have to forgive but… just take it for him. You know it could do him some good. She recoiled her scaly hand and reprised the check and notice that I added the comment “contact 151 3635 if you wish to negotiate further donations' '. She then promptly stuffed it deep into her pocket. She then nodded her head and “I guess I can permit one of your generous gestures for now”. Then, a void of voice and sound overcame us, with only the occasional turn of the fan to break up the silence. By the sheer way she averted her gaze from me and by the sheer way she held herself, she fully communicated that she would be much more comfortable if I just left now. So I arose, said my goodbye, thanked her for listening to me and reminded her of my telephone number on the cheque. And so I made my way out of the door, seeing if she’d bother to watch me leave. Feeling as though this stench of resentment would continue to permeate once I left, I said these final words “I could’ve learned, you know. To be like,” becoming father. I could’ve learnt to do more around the house if you told me to. If you wanted to go back, consider us becoming parents and could’ve and possibly would’ve gotten a job with better hours so I could be a real father, oh what does it matter, we truly had no idea if I would… do all those things back then m. We’ll never really, shall we? You could’ve just asked”.

1 year later:

The football field is soiled by rain. There is no dirt, only mud and mulch. The grass gasps for air. My boots practically sink in the ground, hoping that the mud will not stain my leather shoes. A light brizzle of rain tears from the misty clouds. I see Georgie on the pitch with his stubby little legs stumble across the ground, running to the ball like a moth chasing a moving flame. I see Hilda next to the chalk drawn pitch, hands firmly embedded in her pockets. I hand her tea. She holds with the tips of her fingers. I can tell her little hands are like ice but she has no intention of burning her hands with steaming tea. She slowly coils her grasp around the side of the cup, feeling the icy coolness break away from her hands. As we sip away at the boiling tea, gently retracting our lips everytime we think the tea is just a littel too hot I said “What’s the score?” Hilda replied with “3:3, for now.”. I continue with “So, do you have any ideas about what you’re going to do with the money”. Hilda went on with “Oh you can trust me to put this money to good use” I pushed on with “Erh, school, saving funds the basic things but… I had the silly idea of making a small nursery for Georgie… but”. She paused after that sentence. I was curious about this little idea about the nursery she had “No go on, you were talking about building a nursery for Georgie”. She explained “It’s not we’re going to use forever, we’ll probably just have to make it into a regular bedroom, he’s getting bigger”. I then continued with “Perhaps we should reach a compromise. Georgie seems to like all those African stuffed animals, perhaps I could have an artist paint a picture of a few real Africans. A few giraffes and a few elephants, make sure the picture is quite big so we can put it under the crable and then a small bed. Colourful enough to pull in his attention, but not too simplistically drawn so that it isn't too childish”. She continued “So do you plan to spend all that money on paintings to decorate Georgie’s entire room with?” I shouldn’t have been surprised by such a response, I should’ve learned by now that it was in her nature to criticize than to give out a slither of praise. “It was only a suggestion,” I added. She cut off the conversation with one her aggravated groans.

After a short best of the clouds weeping tears, Hilda decided that she wanted to talk again and asked “So what were these… little sessions with Dr Morgan that you were having”. Naturally I was afraid to answer for I knew she would see it as just another opportunity to spite me. But no longer shall clamp my mouth shut for the sake of her comfortability and so the words blasted out of my mouth “You were so patronising in how you spoke or how you chose not to speak by cutting me off with one of your inconsiderate moans like you just did seconds ago. Naturally because you seemed to blame anything and everything on me, I thought I go to therapy to see if I was doing anything wrong and how I could be a better husband” I stared at her, cardboard tea cup in hand and awaited her spiteful response ”Oh, I see. I thought, I thought we were okay. Not great, not partially good either but better than divorce couple next door”. I looked at her perplexingly and tried to think about how she could ever think that I would take that sentence as a complement. I rambled on with “Well, as you can tell, I didn’t want us to be just “okay” or just better than Jane and Dan. I wanted us to be married, and as happily married as we could be. You seemed so disinterested in that… Morgan often suggested couples therapy or even just telling you about my sessions but, pitifully I was too afraid to tell. Too afraid to see how you would react, too afraid to think about if you’d have any reaction at all. You can go ahead and blame me for not being man enough to tell you but… you can’t shift all of this onto me!”. She continued with “Okay, I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me or I didn’t believe in this marriage” I cut in with “Did you though?! Or did you just admire how much free time Jane now had!” Such a passionate response merely slipped out, no longer carrying my usual methodic tone that traveled through my mouth and out of my lips. Naturally, she retaliated in a more passionate and defensive tone “No. It wasn’t just Jane. You’d spent so much time at the office that most nights I’d be left all on my own with my thoughts. I had to consider whether you preferred sitting in that stuffy little office than spending time with me! I had to consider how a child would live in such a cold, empty house or even if you’d allowed such a thing to wander in your precious house. I was alone when I learned that I was pregnant, and I had to conclude by myself how to best raise this child. Knowing you and knowing how you prefer to live, you wouldn’t dare sacrifice your work for me and I know that you’d much rather have it flushed than anything else. Perhaps who throws it away to another family half-way across the world. But, those were quite fantastical situations for you’re not the boogeyman or rumpelstiltskin. From what I’ve heard today, you’d keep your little mouth clamped even when the child would first see daylight. And so, I had to ask myself whether it'd be better for a child to have a father who so clearly resented his very existence or simply no father at all. Did I hesitate? Yes! Did I ever feel guilty about it? A little! But that’s, that’s how you made me feel!! You made me make that decision, you made me think that the only way I could raise this child was by myself!”

I was… stunned. I had no idea she wanted a child so much. I never really wanted to be a father, nor did I recall her explicitly asking what my thoughts were on having children in general. It must have been difficult raising this child on her own, being the wife at home and the wife at work. It must pain her to be away from her sprout for so long, to just not be a regular mom.

I said in a sorrowful tone that lacked supplication “if my work life made you feel… isolated. If you would’ve, if I would’ve… said something perhaps we could've loosened my workload and I guess I could’ve been more present. Oh look at me, indulging in such nostalgia, watching my mind’s projector of what might and should’ve been. Such a way of life shall always favour fantasy over reality, inaction over action. We could’ve better people, don’t you agree? You, making the… questionable decision to raise our child me and I with my work and that foolish night with the…” I stopped there with my slippery lips now tightly shut. I realised that if I didn’t continue speaking, Hilda would interrogate what I was referring to when I said “foolish night”. I continued with “Hilda, I don't wish to simply forget shards the life we once had. We can’t just simply sweep our four years together under the rug. And… I would try and convince you that we could have a family right now, that we could forget about what happened back then and just make sure Georgie has the best life possible. I’m not going to get down on knees with a ring in hand and beg you to take me back. I don’t think we can be together that way. If I even tried to read this broken, so much time has passed and I’m not sure I can find all the pieces. I don’t want that for Georgie, the thing we both haven’t messed up just yet. I’m redeemable as a husband but I can… do my best to be a father”. I allowed Hilda a few moments to fully consider what I was proposing. I wanted to play a role in this child’s life that me and Hilda could both agree on. I wanted Georgie to be the one thing we could still be a part of. As Hilda’s lips began to shuffle, I waited for her to say yes, to lift this burden of my shoulders so I may start anew. “What were you referring to when you said you had a foolish night?”

I took what was the heaviest sigh I had ever taken in my life. I continued with “There was a woman who I got.., intimate” Hilda was quick to jump in with “and I suppose You didn’t meet this woman after I left”. I nodded my head, and haunted myself from defending myself from saying It Was just one night or I will always be yours. It wasn’t like it was going to make me look less guilty. She simply carried on with “Well, alright… who was she?”. I searched my mind for a name but failed to find one and so I simply replied “I honestly don’t remember, There’s only a vodka induced blur followed with me waking up in another woman’s bed. I know you’re mad but try to…” she interrupted with “I should be mad, really, I should dementorize you for getting with another woman. But, through apathy, time or sheer absence of caring I’m only mildly annoyed that you told me that. To be perfectly honest, I had fantasies about… other men in the neighbourhood, during the darker, less exciting times of our marriage.” She released a sorrowful giggle before continuing “but we were only married in name weren’t we, we were bonded connected through body or soul. A bond whittled down from marriage to be barely a friendship. like a tree being shaved and carved to a toothpick. They say fidelity may ruin the sacred contract of marriage, but we didn’t have that much of a strong contract to ruin now did we John”. I nodded my head and tried to understand such a motivated response. I do admit that her reaction in my head was a little more sensational. In my head I envisioned seeing her heart break through her tiny doll eyes. Then she would snap at me like a demon from Hell. But here, she seemed so, disinterested and careless. She then released another coarse giggle and said “Erh, I did not expect to feel so… about my husband having a fling with another woman. Perhaps time does heal most wounds. I cannot tell whether you can accept this as some form of forgiveness, I can’t stop you from doing that. I have neither the energy or use for making you become consumed by guilt. I just don’t have the energy”.

She jokingly ended the conversation with “we’ve really gotten old haven’t we?”. I replied “Yes, yes we have”.